


Crimson Curls

by Cozy_The_Overlord



Category: Loki - Fandom, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Abusive Relationships, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Avengers Tower, Blood and Injury, Canon Divergence - Post-Avengers (2012), Descriptions of Blood, Domestic Violence, F/M, Loki is a Good Bro (Marvel), Loki is an Avenger, Mystery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-24
Updated: 2020-09-05
Packaged: 2021-03-06 20:28:09
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 15,307
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26074921
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cozy_The_Overlord/pseuds/Cozy_The_Overlord
Summary: A barista at the Avengers Tower coffeeshop goes missing. Her boyfriend, prominent Avengers engineer Michael Hauer, headlines a desperate campaign to find her, aided by the support of Tony Stark and the rest of the super-powered team. But as Hauer's narrative begins to unravel, it becomes clear that a certain Asgardian prince knows more than he's telling.
Relationships: Loki (Marvel)/Original Female Character(s), Loki/OFC, Loki/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 23
Kudos: 117





	1. Disappearance

**Author's Note:**

> This is definitely something born out of my obsession with true crime and missing persons cases... I'm not sure if anybody else is as interested in this concept as I am, but I had the time of my life writing this story, so I hope that translates to you in some way.
> 
> Thanks for reading! :)

Kristine Ververs was first reported missing at 6:07 AM on Tuesday, March 17, by her boyfriend Michael Hauer. He was a bit worried, he said, because she had stormed out of their apartment the night before after a fight, and he had only just realized when he woke up that morning that she never came back. His attempts to call her led him to discover that she had left her cell phone on the kitchen counter.

The dispatcher asked him to wait at the apartment for investigators to arrive. He told her he couldn’t. He had to go to work. A bit befuddled, she asked if it was at all possible for him to wait until police arrived so they could ask him some questions.

“You don’t understand,” he said. “I work for Tony Stark.”

Michael Hauer was considered to be fairly acclaimed at the Avengers Tower. He had been one of the first engineers hired when the Tower opened, picked out by the infamous genius-billionaire-playboy-philanthropist himself. He spent his days in the restricted upper floors, designing and testing projects so confidential that his girlfriend didn’t even know what they were.

He had met Kristine at the Tower. She worked in the coffeeshop next to the cafeteria, where the employees of all 93 stories flocked to with bleary eyes each and every morning. Kristine was hardly the most talkative barista there (on the contrary, she appeared to make it a point to say only the bare minimum), and yet she was the girl everyone thought of when they thought of their morning brew. Her wild mane of curly red hair stood out in a crowd. Even when she wasn’t in uniform, people knew her as the coffeeshop girl.

It was unclear what she thought of this. A lot of things about Kristine were unclear—she spoke very little, and never about herself. Her coworkers often wondered why someone so shy would choose to work a job that so heavily relied on social interaction, but she managed just fine. Despite her natural demeanor, she would put on a smile and speak in that bubbly barista voice people found either endearing or irritating for the customers, and no one thought anything of it.

When she disappeared, people were shocked.

“You mean the redhead from the food court?” asked Bruce in the apartment story of the Tower when the news broke. “She’s the one?”

“Yeah,” said Tony. They were crowded around the TV, the newscaster flashing a photo of Kristine shyly smiling at the camera as the tip hotline ran across the bottom of the screen. “Poor Hauer. He was a mess. I can’t believe he even came in today.”

“I didn’t know they were dating. I don’t think he’s ever mentioned her.”

“Yeah he has,” Steve turned around in his chair to face the doctor. “He brought her to the Christmas party, remember?”

Tony frowned. “Did he?”

“Of course! I remember!” Thor lit up. “She danced with my brother!”

“Oh that’s right,” Tony chuckled. “Poor girl. She didn’t say much, did she?”

“She did strike me as a bit shy,” Steve said. “I hope it’s all a misunderstanding. Maybe she’ll be back on her own.”

But she didn’t. As the days passed with no news of Kristine Ververs, media attention snowballed around the Tower. On its own, there wasn’t much to the case, but the fact that both the missing girl and her boyfriend worked for the Avengers caught the attention of the public. It seemed so impossible. How does someone who walks among superheroes vanish without a trace?

Missing posters lined the hallway walls: HAVE YOU SEEN KRISTINE? People rushed to news stations for interviews, most of which had no connection to her beyond the fact that she sometimes made their lattes in the morning. Hauer held emotional press conferences, begging anyone with information that might lead to Kristine to come forward. Everyone looked at him differently now. The standoffish, stiff engineer that had once been considered uncomfortable to be around was now a grieving boyfriend. They sent him flowers and patted him on the back in the halls, telling him they’d be praying for his girlfriend, promising to help keep the story alive.

Although that probably wasn’t an issue. Stark himself got in front of the camera, making international news as he expressed the Avengers’ concern for the Ms. Ververs and offered to help the police in their investigation in any way they could.

The investigators would have happily accepted this help if they had found anything for Stark to help with. But the fact of the matter was that there was nothing: no clues, no sightings, not even the slightest trace that Kristine Ververs had ever left her apartment. The security cameras in the lobby showed her coming home from dinner with Hauer at 8:13 PM that Sunday night, but had no record of her exiting the building around two hours later, when Hauer saw her storm out. They considered that she may have been pulled into another room, that for some reason she left through a fire escape, but the few cameras in the hallway showed nothing and witnesses were nonexistent.

Kristine had seemingly vanished into thin air.

“Do you think there’s something supernatural at play here?” Natasha asked one day. “Like, a leftover portal from the Convergence or something?”

“Unlikely,” Bruce said. “The Convergence caused our tech to go haywire. We’d definitely be getting noticeable readings if there was a portal down the street.”

“But something like that is still possible,” Tony interjected. “What with all the crazy shit we deal with on a regular basis. Someone might have been going after Hauer—he’s one of our top engineers, it wouldn’t surprise me.”

The fact that she had left her phone was strange, as well. The screen was cracked rather badly—Hauer explained that had happened a few weeks ago when she dropped it on the bathroom tile. Her call history showed that the night she went missing she had phoned an unlisted number. The call hadn’t been long—likely, it had been cut off before the other line even had a chance to answer.

Unfortunately, there seemed to be no clue as to _who_ was on the other line. The number was so badly scrambled that it was untraceable, even with Tony’s resources. In fact, he was relatively certain that whoever she had called had been using _his_ tech to hide their number—leading to a heightened suspicion cast upon the higher-ups at the Avenger Tower.

When after two weeks there were still no leads, Tony held another press conference to announce that he would be posting a one-million-dollar reward for any information that led to the safe return of Kristine Ververs. Hauer joined him, thanking Mr. Stark profusely and pleading once more for help from the public. In the Tower, the others watched the broadcast from the television in silence.

“Filthy weasel.”

No one had noticed Loki entering the room until he spat the words like venom, glaring at Hauer’s distressed face on the screen.

Nat frowned. “What’s your problem?”

The Asgardian made his way to the kitchen and set about boiling water, still scowling darkly. “He has the audacity to sit there and wail as though he’s the victim of some great crime,” he said. “As if he’s some tortured soul wracked with fear.”

“Brother, the woman he loves has gone missing,” Thor said. “Can you not blame him for being in pain?”

“Oh yes, he’s in _such_ pain,” Loki rolled his eyes as he prepared a mug and teabag. “Stark is close with him, is he not? Has he asked him what it was they were quarreling over so passionately that his lady felt compelled to run out of their home in the middle of the night?” He mixed the water in the mug. “Or has no one thought to question that?” With that, he slipped down the hallway with his tea, leaving the others and their gaping expressions behind.

Loki wasn’t the first to doubt Michael Hauer’s authenticity. His neighbor, Colleen Donalds, had come forward to the police shortly after the case went public to voice her concerns. She lived across the hall from the couple, she said, and a lot of times she’d overhear their arguments. They were always incredibly one-sided. She told the police that she very rarely made out Kristine’s voice during these exchanges, but Michael’s boomed all the way down the hall. He called his girlfriend the most demeaning things, throwing out words that Colleen was ashamed to repeat. She felt sorry for Kristine.

“She’s always so quiet,” she said. “Even when I run into her when Michael’s not around, she barely says a word. I can’t believe she stays with him.”

Colleen Donalds attempted discretion. Her story was to the police and the police alone, avoiding making any direct accusations and trying to stay out of the entire situation as much as possible. Marlon Arcardi had no such interest.

“He hits her,” the couple’s next-door neighbor told the tabloid reporters. “I hear it through the walls. I’ve called the cops on him a couple times, but they never do anything about it. He was doing it the night she went missing, too. I heard the crashing. He’s a complete piece of shit.”

The magazines that hit the stands next to the grocery store checkout lines screamed in red ink: AVENGER ENGINEER RESPONSIBLE FOR GIRLFRIEND’S DISAPPEARENCE?

When questioned about it, Hauer denied all allegations. “We’d get into fights,” he said. “What couple doesn’t? It was nothing serious, and the more we focus on it, the more distracted we become from the actual issue: Kristine is missing.”

“Are you saying Mr. Arcardi is lying in his statements to the press?”

Michael Hauer shrugged bitterly. “He wants attention. He’s getting attention. He doesn’t know what he’s talking about. He’s trying to derail the investigation so he can have fifteen minutes of fame. It’s sickening, because we right now we need to be concentrating on Kristine.”

Hauer managed to skirt by on this explanation for a bit, but the investigators soon discovered that Marlon Arcardi _was_ telling the truth—at least, about calling the cops. In the two years that Kristine and Michael had been living together, the police had been called to their apartment nine separate times: seven public disturbance calls from a smattering of different neighbors including Acardi, and shockingly, twice from Kristine herself.

The police refused to release these calls, saying only that each time there were no charges pressed. The public was left to draw their own conclusions as they called in Michael Hauer for more questioning. Suspicion began to blossom.

“If they’re this perfect, happy couple like he wants us to believe,” asked one newscaster. “Then why is she calling 911 on him? Why is she running out in the middle of the night? The whole thing is extremely concerning.”

More people began coming forward. There seemed to be no end to the neighbors who overheard crashes and cursing coming from the Hauer apartment. The baristas Kristine worked with started doing interviews as well.

“We used to have like, you know, night outs on the weekends sometimes,” said Curt Chambers, one of her coworkers. “We’d always ask Kristine, but she always had some excuse. Like, she was sick, or she already had plans, or something. I joked with her once, like ‘you can just say you don’t want to go, we won’t be offended.’ And she said something like ‘no, it’s not that. It’s just my boyfriend doesn’t like me being out too late.’ And I remember thinking that was a really weird thing to say.”

Elaine Janson, another coworker, had more to add. “Something always felt off about that relationship,” she said. “They’d come in together, and then he’d come down a couple times during the day. It was like he was checking on her. It was weird. And they always left together. If he was working late, she’d wait for him.” Elaine shrugged. “Kristine always seemed so tense when he was around. I mean, she was shy to begin with, but when Michael came by it was different.”

It was also revealed that Michael Hauer had failed two lie detector tests: one taken on March 19th, within days of his girlfriend’s disappearance, and another on March 27th.

Tony Stark was inundated with calls: from reporters, from employees, from concerned citizens, some asking if he still supported Michael Hauer in light of new allegations, others demanding that he fire him immediately. He responded in a press conference in front of the Tower.

“As of right now, I’ve been shown no evidence indicating that Michael Hauer is in any way involved in Kristine Ververs’ disappearance. If and when that evidence comes to light, we will reevaluate the situation and take appropriate steps.”

Then somebody leaked the calls.

No one was quite sure who got ahold of those tapes, but by morning they were being blasted on every single news broadcast under the sun. It was the first time that the public was hearing anything in Kristine’s own words, and it didn’t bode well for Michael Hauer.

“Can you please just send someone?” she whispered into the microphone, breath labored as she struggled to get the words out. “He’s really mad, I think he’s going to break down the door. Please, is someone coming?” In the background, a masculine voice was yelling something intelligible, clobbering at a wall.

“Does he get mad often?” the operator asked after assuring her that the police were on their way.

Kristine Ververs gulped back a sob. “He’s always mad.”

The second call didn’t even have words. A scream, the crash as the phone tumbled to the floor, more yelling, pleading, crying, pounding, the operator tracing the call and sending in a unit…

Michael Hauer was formally asked to resign from his duties at the Avengers Tower. When he refused, he was terminated.

Still, he remained steadfast in his story. “Kristine has been missing for nearly a month now,” he stated in a recording posted to social media (press conferences were out of the question now; so many people showed up to protest that he couldn’t get a word in edgewise). “On occasion, we would get into violent fights, but I would never do anything to hurt her. I loved her more than anything. Please, don’t allow my mistakes to derail the investigation. We must not lose focus.”

A tweet of the video link with the caption “You _loved_ her?? Enough lies. Where’s the body, Michael?” shot up to over 2 million likes in a day. #WheresTheBodyMichael and #JusticeForKristine began trending. Petitions for the arrest of Michael Hauer racked up signatures by the hundreds.

On April 21st, over a month after Kristine Ververs was first reported missing, a second, more in-depth search of the Hauer apartment was conducted. They noticed some things that had been missed the first time. The door lock had recently been replaced. The television screen was scratched. But, most critically, there was kitchen knife missing from the set atop the refrigerator. When questioned, Hauer claimed he had no idea what could have happened to it.

Detection dogs were brought in. While the cadaver dogs found no sign of the presence of a corpse, two different blood hounds alerted to the scent of human blood in the kitchen area and indicated a trail leading towards hall. A sample was taken from the carpet and sent to the lab for analysis. With the help of the advanced technology offered by the Avengers Tower, it was conclusively identified as Kristine’s blood.

As if that wasn’t enough already, a few days later, on April 25th, a trash collector turned in the missing kitchen knife to the police. He said he had noticed it in a dumpster earlier that day and recognized it from the description in the paper. There were three sets of fingerprints on the handle: Michael Hauer’s, Kristine Ververs’, and an inconclusive set assumed to be the trash collector’s, despite his insistence that he was wearing gloves when he picked it up. Kristine’s DNA was found on the blade.

The public had been screaming “GUILTY!” ever since the phone recordings were released. Now, they roared.

Michael Hauer was arrested on April 29th and charged with the murder of Kristine Ververs.

It was a shocking turn of events. Technically speaking, there was still no proof that a murder had taken place: there was no body, nor any sign that one existed. And just as there was no evidence of Kristine Ververs leaving the apartment that fateful March 16th, there was no evidence of Michael Hauer leaving the apartment that night either, especially with something as cumbersome as a human corpse.

The twitter hashtag found its home in newspaper headlines: Where’s the Body, Michael?

In the penthouse of the Avengers Tower, Tony rubbed his forehead. “This is such a fucking mess.”

They were gathered once again in the living room, watching as the newscaster recapped the last month and a half, breaking news that was already known. Kristine’s picture, with her downcast cerulean eyes and her frizzy red curls, flashed across the screen once more.

Tony sighed. “He just seemed so _normal_. I _never_ would have thought—”

“You think he did it?” asked Steve.

“Well, he did _something_ ,” Tony snapped. “ _Clearly_. He’s got a history of violence, her blood’s all over the floor—”

“No one’s debating that he did something,” interjected Bruce. “But if he killed her, what happened to the body? He never left the apartment that night, and there’s no evidence that a cadaver was ever stored there”

“He’s smart! That’s why we hired him, he’s a freaking genius! He probably thought of something—”

“Thought of what?” the doctor asked, throwing up his hands. “Teleportation? How the hell did he get the body out?”

“He didn’t.”

The group turned around to find Loki lurking in the back, studying them carefully from the shadows.

Bruce was the first to find his voice. “What?”

“He didn’t remove the body, because there was no body to remove,” he said deliberately.

“But, Loki,” Thor said uncertainly. “Weren’t you _convinced_ Hauer was a killer from the start?”

“I never said he was a killer. I said he was a filthy weasel,” Loki said. “And he is, clearly. He's a slimy, abusive, manipulative, wretch of a man, but he's not a killer—although he likely believes himself to be."

Tony frowned. "What are you talking about, Loki?"

"He cannot be labeled a killer if his victim survived his attempt on her life. Which she did,” Loki paused a moment to let his statement sink in. “Despite Michael Hauer's best efforts, Kristine Ververs is _very_ much alive."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is exciting: my first multi-chaptered fic! Part 2 should be up within the next week (it's written, but there are still some things I'd like to tweak before I post). Thanks again for reading! Comments and feedback are always appreciated :)
> 
> If you enjoyed this story, feel free to check out my Tumblr (@cozy-the-overlord)!


	2. Perception

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So what does Loki know?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a long one... I actually considered chopping it into two chapters, but that would have messed up my careful three-act-structure plans, so I kept it in one. Hope you don’t mind!

It all started because of the Christmas party.

The funny thing was Loki didn’t even _want_ to go to the party. He would have much preferred to remain in his room, flipping through a book he had read hundreds of times before, shielded from the crowds of eyes widening in alarm and conversations that would trail off when they noticed his presence. The mood always shifted when people realized that the alien who invaded New York was in the same room as them, and Loki had become rather exhausted of it.

But Thor had insisted. “ _Please_ , brother,” he wheedled. “Just this once. You’ll enjoy it, I swear!”

He had ended up humoring his brother, simply because he knew he’d never hear the end of it if he didn’t. He didn’t expect to be there long. Surely, within an hour Thor would have broken out the Asgardian mead and subsequently have forgotten all else, and Loki could slip away to the sanctuary of his soundproofed quarters.

Stark had been going around introducing them to his various compatriots: everyone wanted to meet Thor, and Loki was an unfortunate obstacle that they had to put up with to do so. Loki hadn’t been paying much attention to them.

But after a while, there was _one_ couple that caught his eye.

“Oh, Thor, you wanna meet this guy!” Stark said excitedly, steering them over to the corner of the room. “Hey, Hauer! Over here!”

Michael Hauer was unimpressive. Tall, pale, blonde—his face looked no different from the dozens of other men Stark had paraded in front of him throughout the night.

It was the woman that stood next to him that piqued his interest.

“This guy’s one of our most talented engineers,” Stark was saying. “That new Quinjet was mostly his design.”

“You give me too much credit, sir,” said the man, grinning widly. He grasped the arm of his companion and pulled her forward. “This is my girlfriend, Kristine.”

Kristine smiled too, but it didn’t quite reach her cerulean eyes. She was a small woman, but her posture made her look even smaller, with the way she huddled in on herself, her face barely peeking out through the strands of her curly red hair. Her long-sleeved dress clung to her body and only accentuated her thin form. She looked like a twig, ready to snap in half.

Her dress was green. Perhaps it was silly that such a thing still garnered Loki’s attention after all this time, but it did. On Asgard, green had been his color, just as red had been Thor’s. Women hoping to gain his favor used to wear green to the royal balls, hoping that he would notice how perfectly the color of their gowns matched his cape. He was well aware, of course, that such a practice was practically nonexistent on Earth. He understood that the Midgardian holiday they were celebrating was associated with the very same colors he and his brother had once claimed for their own. The color of the woman’s dress meant nothing.

But it still caught his eye.

Thor bowed gallantly. “It’s lovely to meet you, my lady.” Studying her face, he added, “I think I’ve seen you before. Don’t you work at the coffeeshop?”

Kristine tensed. “Yes sir, I do,” she mumbled, her voice just barely legible amidst the hum of conversation. She refused to raise her gaze from the floor.

Stark laughed boisterously. “Of course, how could I forget?” He motioned towards her wild mane. “You really do stand out in a crowd, don’t you? Gee, is that how you two met? What do you know, I’m a matchmaker!”

Hauer and Thor both joined in his laughter, but Kristine just looked uncomfortable. Loki cocked his head to the side. It seemed he had found someone even more miserable at this godforsaken party than he was.

He kept an eye on her for the remainder of the night. It wasn’t that he _intended_ to watch her, but his gaze kept drifting back to her frizzy red hair and her sparkling emerald dress. She looked rather lonely, hovering in her boyfriend’s shadow for the entire night. Hauer barely acknowledged her. He was too busy laughing with Stark or enthusiastically explaining something to Rodgers or guzzling beer with Thor. Loki was rather disgusted by it. Had he been Kristine, he would have walked out hours ago.

It was later in the night when he finally decided to approach her. He had been debating about it for a while. On one hand, perhaps she preferred to be invisible—as unhappy as she looked, she didn’t _appear_ to be complaining about her situation. She certainly wasn’t making the effort to capture Hauer’s attention or to find other means of entertainment. But still, something ached in his chest at the way she stood by so stiffly silent as her boyfriend frolicked about the room having the time of his life.

When Hauer joined the crowd gathered on the balcony attempting to lift Thor’s hammer, Loki made his way to her.

He bowed slightly. “Forgive my forwardness, my lady, but I was wondering if you’d honor me with a dance.”

Kristine was startled. “Oh!” she gasped, jumping a bit. She glanced towards the balcony uncertainly. “Uh… alright.”

He saw it there, that familiar flash of fear that he had been so desperate to avoid tonight. He cursed himself inwardly. What had he expected? “I don’t mean to pressure you—”

“No, no, it’s fine!” she interrupted hurriedly. Behind them, people hooted and chanted as Hauer tried his luck with the hammer. She turned back towards Loki. “I’d like to. Dance, that is.” Her cheeks flushed pink.

“Wonderful.” Loki offered his hand, smiling slightly when she took it.

Loki had long been of the opinion that Midgardians had no regard for proper dance. The complex steps and fluid motions of his youth had no place on the barbaric mortal floors. However, that night he experienced a rare stroke of luck. The song that was playing was softer, the couples dancing merely swaying slowly to the notes. He pulled Kristine on to the dance floor, and the two fell into a rhythm quite smoothly.

At first, they didn’t speak. Loki wasn’t sure what to say. She was clearly not at ease—he could feel the tension in her muscles as they danced—but he was beginning to doubt that he was the cause of her discomfort. She kept looking back towards the balcony, as if at any moment she expected something to come crashing through the windows. When somebody coming back into the main room slammed the door, she whipped her head around so quickly that Loki’s cheek was pelted by red curls.

Kristine gasped in embarrassment. “Sorry!” she said quickly, stumbling over her words. “My hair—I know it’s a complete mess, I try to get it to stay put—”

Loki laughed. “Nonsense. It’s lovely the way it is.” She made a face, shrugging indifferently, and he frowned. “Why would you ever think otherwise?”

“I mean— it’s so hard to care for,” she said. “And it gets on Michael’s nerves. Such a mess…”

There was something in her tone that Loki didn’t like, something that seemed to go deeper than hairstyles.

“It’s perfect,” he said fiercely. After a moment, he added, “My mother always thought red hair was the prettiest shade.” He inhaled at the memory. Frigga had loved the color because of her mother’s red hair. Her sisters had all inherited the same shade, but she had been left with her father’s golden brown. She used to tell him this story often when he was a child, whenever he questioned why he looked nothing like his older brother. Although now, all things considered, he found himself wondering if that had just been yet another lie to keep him from trying to look deeper.

Kristine looked thoughtful. “Really? Huh. My mother used to say the same thing,” she sighed. “But I guess all mothers tell their kids they’re pretty.”

“Perhaps, but in your case, she was speaking the truth.”

The girl blushed. “Thank you,” she murmured.

Kristine seemed quite shy, but she laughed when he made a sarcastic joke about Thor’s hammer overcompensation, and when the first dance ended, she agreed to the second without hesitation.

“I’m not used to doing much at these things,” she admitted. “I don’t really know anyone here except Michael. I never know what to do with myself.”

“He’s not one for dancing, I take it?” Loki asked.

Kristine laughed nervously. “No, not really.”

Their conversation continued, soft and simple. Slowly, she began sharing tiny details about herself. She grew up in Virginia. She liked to draw. Her favorite color was dark blue, but she liked green too—although she seemed embarrassed when he complimented her gown.

“It’s just a plain old green dress,” she told him. “I’ve had it for years. There’s nothing really special about it or anything.”

“I don’t find it plain. It’s quite striking on you,” he twirled her gently, watching her skirt fan out around her legs. “Very pretty.”

When he pulled her back, her cheeks were bright red. “Thanks,” Kristine sputtered. “I-I think you’re pretty too.” She winced. “Oh, that sounded weird—”

Loki chuckled. “Not at all,” he said. “I’ll take what I can get.”

He was enjoying himself far more than he preferred to admit. When was the last time he had had a friendly, casual conversation with anyone? His interactions with the Avengers were stilted at best— a reluctant necessity that both parties avoided as much as they could. And Thor… Thor was still trying to live a fantasy where the past had been entirely forgotten and everything had been fixed between the two of them. Call it irony, but Loki wasn’t that talented at lying to himself.

But this… this was nice. Just talking, joking, laughing. Spending time with someone who didn’t have any ulterior motives or unreasonable expectations. It was rather refreshing, even.

Which is why it _of course_ had to end abruptly.

“Kris!” Kristine stiffened, ripping herself out of his arms immediately as Hauer came barreling across the dance floor. “Kris, where the hell have you been? I’ve been looking all over!” He grabbed her arm and began pulling her back across the room. “I want you to meet this guy I work with. Remember, I told you about him—”

Kristine glanced back at Loki, shooting him what he thought was meant to be an apologetic grin. It came off as more of a pained grimace. He frowned.

It wasn’t the place to make a scene. Loki of Asgard, the invader of New York, throwing a fit in Avengers Tower because he wanted to dance with another man’s lover—oh yes, that would go over _spectacularly_.

Still, he lingered far longer than he ever intended, his gaze following the couple from the corner of his eye. Something about the whole situation didn’t sit right with him. He watched as the man Hauer had been so eager to introduce to her moved on after a few minutes of conversation, and Kristine returned to her dutiful place trailing behind her boyfriend. They left shortly before one in the morning, Hauer’s arm around her waist as they slipped into the elevator.

Kristine met his gaze just as the doors were closing. She smiled softly.

And then they were gone.

He spent the next few days pretending to have forgotten her. He _should’ve_ forgotten her. She was nothing to him—a random mortal who he had just happened to dance with at a party.

And who had a selfish, egotistical boyfriend.

Now that he had been introduced to Michael Hauer, Loki noticed him more often. He worked a lot with Stark, drawing up new designs and overseeing their test runs. From what Loki saw, Hauer was quite intelligent, and well aware of it. He clearly prided himself on his work, as it seemed to be the only topic he ever wanted to discuss.

Loki had found himself lurking around the lab more often, listening in on the discourse that went on between the engineers. His behavior was… odd. Despite many of his coworkers often bringing up their significant others in conversation, Hauer never once mentioned Kristine. Had he not known better, Loki wouldn’t have thought the man was seeing anyone at all. It may have been nothing, of course—perhaps he just didn’t want to discuss his personal life while he was focusing on his work—but Loki couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off about Michael Hauer. His concern for Kristine grew.

It was about a week after the party that he spoke with her again. He went down to the lower floors a few times to scope out the coffeeshop where she worked. It seemed she was always on duty—her crimson curls stood out even when she had them tied back behind her head as she spoke with customers and punched numbers into the cash register.

It was something of a marvel, really; here was this woman who had stuttered and blushed her way through two dances (or a dance and a half, to be more precise), completely calm as she juggled the demands of what had to be hundreds of impatient strangers a day. Was she truly that comfortable with her task, he wondered, or was she simply a better actress than he would have given her credit for?

It was late in the day when he decided to find out.

For once, there wasn’t a line to the counter. Loki sidled up to the cash register and smiled. “Good afternoon, my lady.”

Kristine looked up from her cellular device with a jump. “Oh, hi!” she smiled, but her shoulders remained tense. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you down here.”

“No, you haven’t,” he said. “But ever since his first visit here, my brother has been completely infatuated with this drink of yours. I thought I might give it a try.”

“Oh, yeah. It’s-it’s kind of addicting.” She shifted, pushing a loose strand of hair back behind her ear. He frowned. She still had yet to look him in the eye. “Um, I wanted to tell you… I’m really sorry I dipped so quickly the other night. Michael had told me he wanted to introduce me to his friend, I had just forgotten. I didn’t mean to—”

Loki’s features softened. “I completely understand. No need to apologize,” he said. Kristine’s posture relaxed at his words.

“Really?” she asked.

“Of course. If anything, I should be apologizing to you. After all, I’m the one who stole you away from your party in the first place.”

“Oh no, you’re fine! It was—it was nice. I had fun,” Kristine blushed once again. He smiled wider. Never had he encountered an individual so easily embarrassed by everything she said. It was rather endearing.

She cleared her throat. “So, um, what can I get you?”

Loki glanced at the screen behind her, the various types of drinks laid out in an electric menu he didn’t have the patience to read. “It seems I am in need of your assistance on that front,” he said. “I know nothing of these beverages. What would you recommend?”

“Um,” she shifted, settling into her barista voice. “Well today’s special is the peppermint mocha—it’s kind of the last of the holiday drinks, so—”

“You misunderstand,” he interrupted. “What would _you_ recommend?”

“Oh. You mean—,” Kristine stumbled. “Well… I’m probably the wrong person to ask. I—I don’t really like sugary drinks. I just stick to black coffee most of the time. But that’s just me!” she added hurriedly. “Most people actually prefer—”

“I think I will trust your judgment. After all, _I_ am hardly most people,” he grinned. “I can’t say I enjoy you Midgardians’ obsession with sugar that much myself.”

Her brow furrowed anxiously. “Are you sure? I mean, it’s not that exciting—”

“I’m sure.”

She studied him for a moment, as if attempting to assess his sincerity. Her eyes really were quite piercing. Loki wasn’t sure if he had ever met a mortal with such vibrant blue irises.

“Okay,” she said finally, turning to the cash register. “Small, regular, or large?”

Loki followed her movement, leaning over the counter. “Large,” he said. “Why not? Let’s be dangerous.”

“Well, you are getting the most boring item on the menu, so I don’t know how _dangerous_ you’re being.” Her eyes widened at her own words, clapping her hand over her mouth as her cheeks flushed pink yet again. “I’m sorry, I—”

But Loki was chortling. “My my, now where did _that_ sharp tongue come from?”

Kristine giggled. “Cash or credit?”

She was still smiling when she handed over the warm paper cup. Loki took a whiff of the liquid and winced. “Norns, that is potent.”

“I think it smells nice,” she protested. “I—” Suddenly she stiffened, eyes trained on something over behind him.

“Is something wrong?” he asked, glancing over his shoulder and seeing nothing particularly alarming.

“N-no, no, um—” she looked away quickly, raising her voice. “Is there anything else I can get for you today?”

Frowning, Loki shook his head. “No, I suppose that would be all.”

“Well, have a nice day!” Kristine’s smile was wide and strained. Her message was clear, although Loki couldn’t fathom what had so quickly flipped the switch from playful conversation to such an abrupt dismissal. It was only after he thanked her and made to leave that he found the object of her concern.

Michael Hauer was exiting the stairway, making his way across the room to the coffeeshop. She must have noticed him coming down the stairs.

Still, he was confused. What was so alarming about her boyfriend coming to see her? Was she concerned that he’d see her with another man and get the wrong idea? But surely the brilliant Hauer understood that his girlfriend’s occupation required her to interact with a plethora of different characters every day.

Loki watched as Hauer spoke with her at the counter. He couldn’t quite make out what they were saying, but Kristine had become very still. In fact, she didn’t seem to be speaking at all: she just nodded and shook her head as her boyfriend continued. Loki found himself remembering all the things he disliked about Hauer.

After a few minutes, he left without buying anything. As soon as he was gone Kristine ducked into the back room, only to be replaced a short while later by another girl in a matching apron. Loki returned to his room silently, unable to shake the feeling that something was drastically wrong with Michael Hauer.

He began making a point of stopping by the coffeeshop once a day in the late afternoon. Furtive observation taught him that Hauer had a habit of showing up at the counter in the middle of the morning and again shortly after the lunch hour, although the purposes of these visits were still unclear to him. Kristine’s answers were evasive when Loki had attempted to casually broach the subject.

“Oh, you know,” she said, avoiding his gaze. “He just likes to check up on me.”

Despite his concerns about Michael Hauer (or perhaps because of them), Loki and Kristine struck up an odd little friendship. The coffeeshop was never that busy at the times he came by, so usually he’d stick around to talk for a bit. Their conversations were never anything earth-shattering: they’d complain about their lives, reminisce about their past, make fun of the eccentric individuals they’d see shuffling through the food court. Once, when she learned that Loki still had no idea how to use the cellular phone Stark had given him, Kristine insisted upon teaching him.

“So these are your text messages here,” she said, her fingers sliding across the slab of metal. “See the speech bubble? Geez, you have a lot of unread texts.”

Loki watched over her shoulder, doing his best to feign interest. “Now how could you tell that?”

“The number in the red circle in the corner. See that?” Kristine pointed. “That’s how many new notifications you have.”

“What am I being notified of?”

“People have been texting you. You can go in and—” she pressed the text icon “See? Here’s all your messages.” She frowned at the jumble of capitalized letters that greeted her. “It looks like they’re all from Thor.”

Loki yawned. “Is that so? Well then, we know _they’re_ not important.”

She giggled. “Here, let me show you how to text back.”

Sometimes, she’d show him her sketchbook. Kristine really was a talented artist: her penciled sketches of the birds she’d see outside her apartment window looked as though they could almost fly off the page. She drew a lot of people as well. Most were portraits of Hauer, of course, as well as a light-haired, middle-aged woman Kristine identified as her mother, but Loki also recognized some of the Avengers: Tony Stark, Captain Rodgers, even his brother.

“You spent the time to draw Thor and not me?” he cried in mock outrage. “And here I thought we were friends! I must say, I’m _quite_ offended.”

Kristine stifled a giggle. “I’ll draw you next,” she said. “I promise.”

In return, he’d show her bits of his magic. He’d conjure an illusion of a snake on the counter or make his hand glow or turn the sugar jar into a goblet of wine or something equally silly—hardly anything remarkable, but he loved how her eyes would light up at even the simplest of tricks.

“That’s the most amazing thing I’ve ever seen!” she laughed as she ran her hands through a fading illusion. “That is just so cool!”

He grinned. “You’re easily impressed, my lady.”

“I wish I had magic” Kristine continued. “It would make my life _so_ much easier. Wouldn’t have to drive anywhere, I could just teleport. If I left my phone at home, I could just summon it through a portal or something.” She snapped her fingers. “You know what I’d do? I’d make it snow inside. It’s always so freaking hot in here—we could use some indoor snow.”

“There’s a far simpler solution to that problem, my lady.” He nodded at her shirt. “You should change your wardrobe. It’s far to warm in here for long sleeves.”

Kristine tugged at the collar of her turtleneck uncomfortably. “I guess. But—I’m just used to wearing this, you know? Like, you can’t teach an old dog new tricks, right?” She laughed again, but this time it sounded far emptier. “Besides, it’s not that bad in here. I just always make a big deal out of little things, you know?”

Loki nodded in agreement, but inwardly, he was distressed. He had suddenly realized that in the weeks he had been spending time with Kristine, he had never once known her to bare her arms.

His concerns only grew when one day Kristine came in to work with a blackened eye and a bruise that stretched down her cheek.

“Norns, Kristine, are you alright?” he cried. “What happened?”

“Oh, it’s nothing,” she said, speaking so quickly he could barely understand what she was saying. “I just fell down the stairs at my apartment. It was my fault, they’re really steep, I wasn’t paying attention. It looks a lot worse than it is.” She smiled desperately. “One large black coffee?”

“What is your opinion on Michael Hauer?”

Stark looked up from the box of spare parts he was rummaging through in his lab and frowned.

“Hauer?” he asked. “Why do you care?”

Loki glared coldly across the room. “Simple curiosity. Indulge me.”

He smirked. “What’s the magic word?”

“ _Stark._ ”

“Fine, geez,” Stark turned back to his work. “Hauer’s a genius. You know that new Quinjet we tried out in Novi Grad? That was his model. I never would have thought to—”

“I understand that he’s intelligent,” Loki interrupted. “But what are your thoughts of his nature?”

“His _nature_?” Stark shrugged, dumping the contents of the box on his desk. “I don’t know, he’s nice. Fun at parties.”

Loki raised an eyebrow. “That’s all? Hasn’t he been in your employ for years?”

“Hey,” Stark raised his arms in mock surrender. “I focus on the important stuff. You know,” he continued as he picked out pieces from the pile. “You can see for yourself, if you hang around a few minutes. We’re staying late tonight to test out one of his new designs—”

He started. “Hauer’s coming up here?”

“Yeah. If you want to meet him, I can—”

But Loki had already dashed out of the room.

Kristine usually got out of work early in the evening, but he knew that when Hauer stayed late she’d wait for him at the tables across from the coffeeshop. Perhaps this would be the best time to confront her, when she knew her boyfriend would be occupied for the foreseeable future.

He nearly ran into the man on the stairs going down to the food court.

“Watch it!” snapped Hauer as he came barreling up the steps, not even looking up to see who he was snapping at. For a moment, Loki was tempted to remind him, but he held himself back. Now was hardly the time or place.

The dark-haired girl behind the counter wasn’t Kristine, and she visibly stiffened when she saw Loki coming.

“H-how can I help you today, sir?” she stuttered.

“I’d like to speak with Ms. Ververs,” he said. “Is she here at the moment?”

The girl looked surprised. “Kristine?” she asked. “Oh, um, you just missed her. I think she went to the bathroom.”

He nodded. “Ah. Very well. Thank you.”

Loki made his way to one of the tables, resolving to wait for her return. Time passed. Men and women trickled down the stairs and out the door. Outside, the sun began its slow descent beneath the horizon. Kristine still did not return. He had waited nearly forty-five minutes when Loki decided to go looking for her.

The nearest restrooms were empty. He went down the hall to check the others, peeping into the cubicle offices along the way. He couldn’t imagine what she’d be doing in there, but perhaps she had run into a friend and struck up a conversation and lost track of time—he hoped that was what had happened. But she wasn’t anywhere he looked. 

Loki was on the brink of alerting Stark that one of his employees had gone missing so that he could check security footage when he overheard what sounded like muffled sobs coming from a broom closet.

Frowning, he tapped on the door. “Kristine?” He cracked it open and called again. “Kristine, is that you?”

There was a moment of hesitation before the answer came. “Yeah,” she mumbled, sounding completely exhausted. “Yeah, it’s me, Loki.”

He pushed the door all the way open. She was huddled in the corner, hidden behind a mountain of cleaning supplies. Her hair was beginning to slip out of her ponytail, framing her face in wispy strands of unkempt curls. Her eyes were swollen. Loki’s chest ached as he took in her appearance. In the low light, she looked more like a frightened child than a grown woman.

Loki made his way into the closet, stooping to avoid the low ceiling. “What are you doing in here?” he asked gently as he sat down next to her. “What happened?”

“Oh nothing, it’s just—I thought—” she hiccupped. “I just wanted to get away from everything.” She rubbed at her eyes with the corner of her apron.

“Here.” Loki summoned a clean handkerchief to his hand and held it out to her. This time, the magic trick sparked none of the usual wonder in her eyes. She took the cloth with a barely audible thank you.

“What do you mean by everything?” he asked.

Kristine sniffed. “It’s nothing. Really. Michael and I—we just had a little argument. That’s it. It’s nothing.”

“Nothing,” Loki echoed. “And yet you’re hiding in a broom closet.”

“I—it’s just—” she sniffed again, blinking back tears. “He gets mad sometimes.”

She blew her nose into the handkerchief, wincing when she pressed too hard on her bruised cheek. Loki thought of Michael Hauer, fuming on the stairs as he stormed off from the coffeeshop. He thought of how he had dragged Kristine away on the dance floor, how terrified she had been when she saw him coming while speaking with Loki at the counter.

Hesitantly, he gave voice to the suspicion that had been lurking in the back of his mind ever since he first laid eyes on the couple.

“He hurts you,” Loki whispered quietly. “Doesn’t he?”

Kristine looked up with panicked eyes. “You can’t tell anybody!” she cried, trembling. “You won’t, right? You won’t tell anybody?” she grabbed at his shoulders as the tears streamed down her cheeks, her breathing coming in fast spirts. “Please, he’ll get so mad at me if he thought—you won’t tell anybody, will you? Please—”

Loki gently pulled her shaking body into an embrace, trying to soothe her as she hyperventilated. “Kristine, it’s alright—”

She sobbed into his chest. “He’ll get mad, he’ll get mad!”

He hushed her softly, rubbing her back. “If you don’t want me to tell anyone, then I won’t,” he murmured. “Can you breathe in slowly for me now? And now out. Just like that…”

They sat in the dark for a while, Loki whispering quiet nonsense into her ear as her breathing stabilized. People passed by outside, but thankfully no one barged into the broom closet.

“Why do you stay with him?” he asked after several minutes of silence.

Kristine shook her head. “He-he’s done so much for me—”

“He _hurts_ you.” He looked down at her in disbelief. “You don’t owe him anything.”

She inhaled hoarsely. “I didn’t have anything when I came up here. My mom had just died, everything was going wrong, I was so _lonely_ —” she sighed. “I’ve never been good at—at making friends. But he—he was so _nice_ to me… I don’t know what happened.”

She sounded utterly broken. Loki’s arms tightened around her without realizing. “He’s not worthy of you,” he whispered fiercely. “You deserve to be treated like a goddess.”

Kristine laughed humorlessly. “But I can’t just leave him,” she said. “I’d lose my job. He’s literally best friends with Tony Stark, he’d be sure of it. And I wouldn’t have anywhere to go—he owns the apartment.”

“Don’t you have someone you could stay with temporarily?” he asked. “Friends, family? Surely you aren’t entirely dependent on that rat.”

“My parents are both dead,” she whispered. “And I never really got to know anyone out here before I met Michael. After that… I never really hung out with anyone else.”

“You hang out with me,” he reminded her. “I’m sure I could arrange for you to stay somewhere. I’ll tell Stark what kind of person Hauer really is. I’m sure the Avengers would be eager to have him terminated if they knew.” It would take some convincing, but if he got his brother to believe him, Thor could surely convince the others. Perhaps Stark would be unwilling, but Rodgers held just as much authority as the mechanic, and Loki somehow doubted that keeping a known abuser on Avengers payroll would sit well with the Captain’s heavy moral compass.

Kristine was less convinced. “They’d never fire him,” she said bitterly. “Not for me. Michael builds all their _world-saving_ technology. They _rely_ on him. I’m just some random barista. They’ll never sacrifice all that stuff for me. And he knows it.”

Loki frowned. “What do you mean?”

“I’ve called the police on him. Twice. I thought he was going to kill me,” she gulped. “The police got there, and he just talked his way out of it. Told them who he was, who he worked for, and they were like, shaking hands with him!” She sobbed. “They asked me if I wanted to press charges, and it was like, how could I? They were already on his side!”

“What do you do then?” he asked, horrified. “If you’re afraid to call law enforcement, what do you do when he’s attacking you?” Somehow, he already knew the answer.

Kristine shrugged. “Pray. Wait for him to get tired.”

“No.” Loki shifted, digging out the glossy Avengers-sanctioned cellular phone from his pocket. “Here. If you can’t call the police, call me.” The screen lit up the broom closet as he pulled up his number.

She frowned. “What?”

“Take down this number. If you ever feel you’re in danger, I want you to call it. Without hesitation.” Loki looked at her somberly. “I’ll teleport to your location immediately.”

“Are-are you sure?” she asked hesitantly. “Isn’t that number supposed to be, you know, like, top secret?”

“Don’t worry about it. Stark claims it’s untraceable.” He watched as she pulled out her own phone and began typing the number in. “I will get you out of this, Kristine.”

She ran her hands through her red hair. “You really think you can?”

“Yes,” he said. “I swear it.”

Things changed after that. His daily coffee-stops turned into check-ins: asking if she was alright, if Michael had done anything the night before, if he could do anything for her. It seemed that they had reached a period of peace: Michael was so distracted with his latest project with Stark that he didn’t have the time to be violent. Loki feared that it wouldn’t last long though.

Kristine had made him swear that he wouldn’t tell anyone else of her circumstances, so Loki figured that he’d have to get creative with getting Hauer out of Avengers Tower. Framing him as a security threat seemed to be the best option, as security was Stark’s highest priority. Loki set about planning to make it look as if Hauer was stealing SHIELD intel. It was a more difficult task than he anticipated. Leaving too obvious a trail would make Stark suspicious that Hauer was being set up, but too subtle a trail and nobody would even notice that something was wrong. He went back and forth on various plans, all harboring some flaw that could potentially give it all away, before storming out of his quarters one day in frustration.

It really shouldn’t have been so difficult. Loki sat in the food court, cloaked by an illusion, watching Hauer make his way down the stairs for his morning visit to his girlfriend. If he were to trip at the top of the staircase, put the wrong foot in the wrong place at the wrong time and go tumbling to his death, nobody would think anything of it. _Oh, what a tragic accident. He was so young_. And then they’d move on with their lives.

_Yes_ , Loki thought as Hauer went on his way, _it would be so much easier if you would just fall down the stairs._

He didn’t kill him though. It wasn’t out of any love for Michael Hauer—the very thought of the man drove Loki into fantasies of burying a dagger into his chest—but because of Kristine. Loki didn’t tell her about his murderous dreams, but she had her suspicions, and she didn’t like them.

“You wouldn’t do anything to hurt Michael, right?” she asked suddenly one day. “Like, physically?” She looked up at him, eyes wide and anxious. It cut him deeply to see her looking at him like that, as if he was the unpredictable monster she had to fear.

Loki shook his head. “No,” he said. “No, I wouldn’t do anything like that.” He left with his coffee, unable to shake the feeling of shame weighing down his shoulders.

It was late at night when the phone rang. Loki had been sitting on the couch in his quarters, the open book in his lap failing to hold his attention as his mind wandered to more pressing issues, when the ringtone crashed through the silence.

Loki jumped to his feet, clawing at his pocket to find the damn device. As quickly as it began, the room fell quiet. By the time that he had the phone in his hand, the ringing had stopped. Across the screen flashed a message: Missed Call from Kristine Ververs.

He didn’t remember making the decision to teleport to her apartment, only that suddenly he was there, ripping the door open so forcefully that the lock cracked.

Three things greeted him inside the apartment: Hauer, standing only a few feet from the door. Kristine, curled beneath him on the floor, gasping for air. And blood. Lots and lots of blood.

Hauer whipped up, eyes wild. “ _The fuck are you?_ ”

Loki grabbed him by the collar and flung him into the television set.

Kristine was sobbing. Her bloodied hands clawed at the knife handle buried deep into her abdomen.

Oh Norns, what did he _do_ to her?

“Here, hang on,” Loki knelt beside her in a frenzy, pulling her wrists away. Her shirt was soaked through with red. Helplessly, he pressed against her wound, hoping to staunch the bleeding.

_How much blood has she lost already?_

Panicked, he glanced around the room. The carpet was stained, a trail leading all the way back to the kitchen area.

“Loki,” she choked. “I didn’t—I tried—”

“Shh,” he hushed. “It’s alright. You are going to be fine.” He needed to get her out of here. He had no medical supplies in here, no healing stones. Gingerly, he scooped her up in his arms, kicking himself when she whimpered in pain. “I’m going to take care of you, alright?” he whispered as he stood. “You’re going to be fine. I swear, you’ll be fine.”

He teleported back to his quarters and laid her on his bed.

_Healing stones. Need healing stones._

“Kristine,” he said urgently, bringing her hands to either side of the knife. “I need to you to press down here, okay?” He pushed her hands against her wound. “Just like that, alright?”

Kristine gave a short nod, but her eyes seemed to be staring past him.

“Kristine,” he tapped her cheeks, “Kristine, stay awake!”

She made a nondescript noise and nodded again. With a troubled look, Loki grabbed a healing stone and broke it over her stomach, casting a spell of light to activate it. The dust shimmered as it sank into her skin through her shirt. He pulled the knife out as the wound closed and tossed it aside.

Kristine moaned, her head falling backward on to the pillow as her eyes closed. That was okay. In the handful of times Loki had used healing stones on mortals (usually members of the Avengers), he had learned that their bodies tended to be overwhelmed by the magic and need to sleep it off. It was okay.

He watched her chest rise and fall with each small breath, her crimson curls seeming even more vibrant against the paleness of her skin.

It was okay, right?

Her pulse was steady. Loki took it twice more, just to be certain. Her temperature was normal. Her breathing regular. Everything was fine. He sighed.

Loki cleaned up the blood best he could without disturbing her, then washed off and pulled up a chair. Kristine was still sleeping peacefully. He wondered suddenly what Hauer was going to do. The man was used to getting away with violence, but this went beyond beatings: this was attempted murder. Would he come clean? Or (and the more Loki thought about it the more likely this seemed) would he attempt to pin the blame on him?

“He crashed through the door and kidnapped my girlfriend! I tried to stop him, but he attacked me!”

From an outside perspective, the story might seem believable. After all, most of this world still saw him as the monster who lurked in the shadows, waiting with sharpened claws for the opportune moment to strike. It would be easy for Hauer to paint him as the villain.

Loki considered waking the others and explaining what had happened, before Hauer had a chance to tell his warped version, but he decided to wait until Kristine awoke. It was her life, after all—she should have a say in how things played out. Besides, doing so would require him to leave her by herself for a bit.

He didn’t know what it was, but he didn’t want to leave her alone.

By morning, she still had not awoken. It was a bit concerning—the other times he had used stones on mortals, they had only slept for a few hours. By the end of the day, she still had not stirred and he was convinced that something was wrong. Frantically, he consulted his books, searching for some caveat he had overlooked.

The obvious answer would be that she was having a bad reaction to the healing stones, but such a situation would merit a _reaction_ : racing heartbeat, wild seizures, delirious hallucinations. But Kristine was still. Her vitals were normal, her sleep tranquil. Loki didn’t know what to do.

It wasn’t until he found a footnote in his old healer’s textbook that he realized what was happening.

_Note that the potency of healing stones can be affected by the mental wellbeing of the patient. An individual who has suffered under extreme stress for an extended period of time may have a longer recovery period than one who has not._

“Oh, dear,” Loki murmured. He closed the book slowly. “ _Extreme stress for an extended period of time”_ —that practically described Kristine’s entire existence. She was going to be out for a while.

He looked at her on the bed, eyes closed, breath soft. He had never known Kristine to look so at peace. Perhaps a long, deep sleep was just what she needed. He patted her knuckles gently.

“You’re safe here, my lady,” he whispered.

The next day, when no one had crashed into his quarters accusing him of kidnapping, he thought that perhaps he better find out what was going on. He slunk into the common room, hoping to overhear some tidbit of information. Of course, Thor was never one to appreciate his desires for stealth.

“Brother!” he cried when he noticed him, patting him on the back. “Where have you been? Have you heard the news?”

Loki stiffened. “News?”

“Michael Hauer’s lady has gone missing! You remember her, don’t you? You danced with her at Stark’s last party.”

“Yes,” Loki frowned. Thor didn’t seem to have any idea of his involvement. “What do you mean ‘missing’? Has she been abducted?”

“We don’t know,” Thor said, shaking his head ruefully. “She and Hauer had a fight the night before last, and she stormed out. Hauer only saw yesterday morning that she never returned.”

“Oh.” Loki stared for a moment, shellshocked. Hauer had made up a story that didn’t include him in it. Why would he cut out his easiest option for a scapegoat? “Well,” he said cautiously, “I assume every effort is being made to retrieve the young lady.”

“Oh, yes. Stark plans to help the police, to make certain she’s found safely,” Thor sighed. “Poor Hauer. I can’t imagine what he’s going through right now.”

Loki shook his head. “No, neither can I.”

It was an interesting tale that Hauer had concocted. Loki watched it play out over the next few weeks as he watched over Kristine. Listening to the piece of filth pretend to weep over the woman who he had beaten and abused and buried a blade into made his blood boil, but Loki put up with it in an attempt to understand what Hauer was trying to accomplish. Shockingly, he continued to stick to his story: he and Kristine had a fight at around ten, she got angry and stormed out, and when he woke up the next morning he realized she hadn’t come back.

At first, Loki thought he was simply trying to cover up his violent history. But it didn’t make any sense: he had the _perfect_ opportunity to solidify his innocence by throwing the blame on to Loki, and yet he continued to dig himself into a hole by claiming Kristine left on her own—something security cameras proved never happened.

It was only when he stopped to consider that Hauer had to have taken the time to clean the apartment, wash away the traces of blood and fix the lock and right the television set, that Loki began to examine an alternative explanation. Did… did Hauer even _know_ what happened that night? Loki hadn’t exactly checked his force when he threw him across the room. It was possible that he didn’t even remember Loki showing up, didn’t remember what happened to Kristine… and woke up in an apartment full of blood…

_Oh my_ , Loki thought as he watched Hauer stumble through an interview on television. _He thinks he killed her._

The revelation and thought of the stress it must have been causing him gave Loki great joy, but watching the world fall for Hauer’s story hook, line, and sinker was frustrating beyond words. As the Avengers showered him with pity, not even _bothering_ to question the shakiness of his ridiculous story, Loki thought of Kristine’s words in the broom closet, her steadfast belief that nobody cared enough about her to turn on her boyfriend.

Then the narrative flipped.

Loki remembered Kristine telling him about those two phone calls, but nothing could have prepared him for actually _listening_ to them.

“ _Can you please just send someone?_ ” her voice was shaking, barely holding together as she breathed into the phone, “ _He’s really mad, I think he’s going to break down the door. Please, is someone coming?_ ”

Loki wasn’t sure what hurt him more, hearing her whisper through such unadulterated fear, or knowing that when the someone did arrive, they did nothing to help her.

The public had turned on Michael Hauer. The police found traces of blood in his apartment. Stark fired him. Descriptions of the missing knife plastered the news. Demands for an arrest flooded the Internet. The search for a body kicked into full gear. And then Loki had an idea that could put the nail in his coffin.

He left the knife where it was sure to be noticed by someone, just sitting atop the dumpster behind their apartment building. Sure enough, it was found within hours.

Four days later, Michael Hauer was arrested and charged with the murder of Kristine Ververs.

That same day, Kristine woke up. He had become so used to her stillness that he nearly jumped out of his skin when she groaned.

He knelt next to the bed. “Kristine?”

She stretched, blinking her cerulean eyes. “L-Loki? What—where are we?”

“My quarters in Avengers Tower,” he smiled wryly. “You’ve had a bit of a nap.”

Kristine shot up as if she was struck by lightning. “Michael! Oh my God, he—” her hands flew to her stomach, where the knife had gone in. “What—how—did he—”

Loki hushed her. “It’s alright. You’re safe. He can’t hurt you,” he said, taking her hands in his and giving them a reassuring squeeze. “I have much to tell you…”


	3. Solace

“Oh, did I mention that I finally convinced my mom to buy a smartphone?” Elaine was chuckling. “She just discovered the world of emojis. Every text I get from her is immediately followed by like twenty different happy faces!”

Laughter erupted up around the small table. Kristine found herself giggling too, despite herself. She almost hadn’t come tonight. She didn’t think the others had expected her to come, either: Curt had invited her with a nervous sort of hesitance that gave her plenty of room to back out. _“It’s okay if you don’t want to come. We totally understand.”_

The excuses had bubbled to her lips in an instinctual panic— _I can’t, I have plans, I’m not feeling well_ —but she clamped down on her tongue before they spilled out. Her therapist was always telling her that the only way she could take back control of her life was to trust herself to control it. So, Kristine swallowed her insecurities and smiled at her coworker.

“I’d love to. What time?”

It hadn’t been a _perfect_ night. Old habits die hard, and Kristine found herself looking over her shoulder more often than not. Every time, she’d turn back to the table, feeling stupid. What did she expect to see? Michael lurking behind the bar in his orange jumpsuit? Her fellow baristas had to notice—if there was one thing that this whole ordeal had taught her, it was that she was incapable of subtlety—but they were kind enough not to say anything.

It had been fun, though—more fun than she had expected. Kristine hadn’t realized how little she knew the people she worked alongside. She found herself learning all sorts of things. Curt played rugby on the weekends. Kristine hadn’t even known rugby was a _thing_ in America, but apparently he was in an amateur league right in New York, and went straight to practices after work on Tuesdays and Thursdays. Tasha was a self-titled crazy cat lady, with five felines living with her in her small apartment. She passed around her phone with pictures of the newest kitten, a tiny orange fluffball named Tigger. Elaine was locked in a never-ending struggle with her 63-year-old mother to “introduce her to the 21st century.”

At first, Kristine had felt guilty that she didn’t have any captivating stories to contribute to the conversation. Her only hobby was her art, and there wasn’t much to say about that. _I draw people when I’m bored_. Certainly nothing compared to Curt’s gripping account of how his friend fractured his neck in a game two weeks ago. But there was no pressure for her to add anything, and slowly, Kristine relaxed, content just listening to the chat.

The couple at the table across from them caught her eye towards the end of their meal. They had been whispering to each other ever since they sat down, looking back and forth between Kristine and their phone screen. She stiffened as they gestured towards her. Getting recognized in public… that was a thing she still couldn’t wrap her head around. She didn’t understand why seeing her made people so excited… it wasn’t like she was a singer, or an actress, or some other type of celebrity. She was just… her. Normal. No different than anybody else she passed on the sidewalk.

Kristine tried to ignore the excited couple and turn back to the conversation, but it was hard with the tell-tale clicking of a cell phone camera to her right. She closed her eyes. _Just ignore them. Just ignore them._

The camera shutter soon caught the attention of the others, however. Elaine stopped what she was saying and turned to glare at the other table.

“Hey!” she snapped at the couple. Kristine jumped at the sudden shout. “Knock it off! She doesn’t want pictures!”

The two were stricken. Mumbling an apology, they turned back to their dinner.

“Thanks,” Kristine murmured, eyes downcast. It seemed she couldn’t go anywhere these days without being interrupted by someone. She couldn’t imagine how annoying that must have been for those she was with. “Sorry about that.”

“Don’t be sorry,” Elaine said. “It’s not your fault that people act like dumbasses around famous people.”

 _Famous people_.

Kristine wasn’t sure how to feel about that. Should she be upset that the whole world seemed to know every intimate detail of her broken life, or should she be honored that they cared? Because they did care—that was maybe the most shocking part of it all. Once she woke up in April, after the whirlwind of finding herself in the Loki’s penthouse room and getting examined by the Avengers’ private doctor team and being interviewed by police investigators for hours, she finally looked at the Twitter hashtags that had been trending while she slept. It was… surreal.

_Just saw the news about the blood in the apartment and I’m crying. I want her to be alive so badly, but I don’t think she is anymore. Please, @NYPD, don’t let this monster get away with her murder. #ArrestMichaelHauer #WheresTheBodyMichael? #JusticeForKristine_

_He controlled her, abused her, and tried to blame her for her own disappearance. Do NOT let him get away with it. #ArrestMichaelHauer #WheresTheBodyMichael? #JusticeForKristine_

_She’s such a beautiful girl. I hope they find her and that the boyfriend gets what he deserves. #JusticeForKristine_

There were thousands of them. Thousands, and not a single handle she recognized. Perfect strangers, rushing from across the country to fight for _her._

When Loki had returned with tea, he had found her in tears.

“What’s wrong?” he had asked, rushing to her side by the computer.

Kristine shook her head. “There’s just so many,” she whispered. “I never thought there would be so many!”

After the announcement was made that she had been found, alive and well, she thought the support would stop, but the floodgates had only just been opened. She started getting messages addressed directly to her, from tweets that read like letters to _actual_ letters in the mail. Kristine had never gotten a letter in her _life_ , and yet here she was having to open a special PO box because of all the mail coming into Avengers Tower addressed to her.

She got letters from people who followed the case, people who were so relieved to find that she was okay that they had to let her know. There were people she had never met, writing to tell her that she was beautiful and talented and deserved so much better than the likes of Michael. There were people writing to tell her that they hoped she knew that they would always support her, even if they could never understand what she had been through.

And then there were the people who understood _exactly_ what she had been through. Some days, she found herself reading stories from women she didn’t know that read like pages from her own diary. Kristine had always been aware that she wasn’t the only person with a significant other like Michael—she had seen the PSA’s on television, she knew the words “domestic violence”—but somehow, she had always _felt_ like the only one. Who else in real life was foolish enough to get into such a situation, and who else was weak enough to stay? But there _were_ others.

 _So many others_.

Those letters were overwhelming in a completely different way.

Kristine hid them all away, in a cardboard box underneath her bed in her Avengers Tower apartment. She had been staying there ever since she woke up: Mr. Stark had insisted. She had never really liked Tony Stark. He was fun to draw, because his face was so recognizable, but to her, that was where his merits always ended. Maybe it was because he adored Michael so much: every party she went to, he made a point of telling her how lucky she was that she snagged such a talented man. He provoked a deep bitterness in her chest, masked only by her anxiety. Kristine never had any doubts that if it came down to her word against Michael’s, Mr. Stark wouldn’t even bother to hear her out.

She couldn’t believe it when Loki told her Stark had _fired_ Michael. He had done it early on, too: before the blood and the knife had even been discovered.

“The phone calls?” she whispered hoarsely. “That’s all it took?”

Loki looked at her sideways. “Those calls were horrific,” he said. “He’d have to be soulless not to terminate him after hearing them.”

And then, when she realized that she would have to find a new place to live now that Michael was in jail, Mr. Stark insisted that she stay at the Tower, at least until she found a suitable apartment elsewhere. He told her to consider it his way of apologizing.

“But—you don’t have to—to apologize for anything, sir,” she stuttered, unable to look him in the eye.

Mr. Stark was adamant. “This whole shitshow comes back to me. I hired him, I hired you, he met you because of it. Matchmaker, remember?” He shook his head, pinching the bridge of his nose. “No, it all comes back to me.”

Kristine wasn’t so sure of that, but she was touched by his guilt. He had even offered to send his Iron Legion to retrieve her stuff for her, but she elected to do that herself, with Loki. There wasn’t much to retrieve: clothes, art supplies, little bits and baubles she had taken with her when she moved to New York.

She froze in the doorway when they first walked in. The floor was as clean as ever, and yet in her mind she could still see the sticky red trail, the sickly warmth seeping down her shirt. It had taken a minute to process that all that blood had been coming from her.

Loki squeezed her hand gently. “If you’d prefer,” he murmured into her hair, in a voice just barely loud enough for her to hear, “You don’t have to go in. Just tell me what you wish to fetch, and I’ll take care of it.”

She shook her head, squeezing her eyes shut. “No. No. I’m—I’m fine. Let’s go.”

Still, the events of that night played out in her head as she made her way through the apartment. How Michael had been ordering that she quit her job at the coffeeshop. He had been wanting her to quit for a while now, convinced that she was constantly flirting with other men while he was at work. If she loved him, he said, she’d prove it by doing this _one thing_ for him.

Kristine refused. Honestly, her resolve surprised herself. At this point, she had learned that the only way to keep the peace was to cave to Michael’s wishes, but this demand stirred something in her. The barista job was _the last thing_ she had left, the only thing he couldn’t touch. She told him he couldn’t make her quit even if he killed her for it.

She had regretted the words immediately. He lunged at her with wild eyes, that vein popping in his neck. When she tried to call Loki, he ripped the phone from her hands and flung her into the coat rack.

Kristine had scrambled into the kitchen area. She had grabbed the knife in a panic, some half baked idea of defending herself, but he was on top of her before she had time to think, shouting at her and wrestling for the handle.

And then it was in her.

She didn’t feel it go in. Even after it went in, it wasn’t that bad—just a dull stinging in her abdomen that seemed to pulse with her heartbeat. She looked down slowly, dazedly, reaching out to grip the handle buried in her stomach. Michael looked down too, mouth agape. Kristine remembered thinking that he looked like a fish.

She wasn’t sure how she got back into the hallway floor, but Michael was yelling at her again.

_“What the fuck were you thinking, going for the knife? Are you fucking insane?”_

She was breathing hard, and it hurt more with every breath, sending shockwaves of pain through her body. Blood was dripping down her front. Her blood, she recognized dimly.

That was the scene Loki had arrived at. She didn’t remember much after that.

That moment ensnared her as she stuffed shirts into her ratty old suitcase. Loki didn’t talk about what he saw much, but it was clear from what he did say that he was certain Michael meant to kill her. She supposed she couldn’t blame him—had she seen what he saw, she probably would have drawn the same conclusion. But as it stood, Kristine wasn’t so sure. Maybe he would’ve finished her off, had her Asgardian knight in shining armor not come to rescue her, but she couldn’t forget his shocked fish face recoil when the blade pierced her stomach.

“ _What were you_ thinking _Kristine?”_

Why was she so hung up on this? What did it matter what Michael _might’ve_ done if given the chance? The only important thing was what he _did_ do: he hurt her, he manipulated her, he _stabbed_ her. Wasn’t that enough?

It was enough for him to be arrested. Or… remain arrested, she guessed. Of course, the murder charge was dropped once it was proven that no murder had taken place, but police were quick to smack him with attempted murder and numerous charges of assault and battery. News outlets were constantly reaching out for comment, but Mr. Stark shut them all down for her.

“Ms. Ververs has been through a very traumatic experience,” he said at a press conference. “She has no desire to comment on anything at the moment, and we at Avengers Tower would greatly appreciate it if you all stopped pestering her.”

“Well, Kris, it looks like you’ve made it,” Agent Romanov said to her as they watched coverage from the television in the penthouse. “You’ve got Tony Stark acting as your PR. You can either celebrate or be extremely concerned.”

Kristine forced a laugh. Out of all her new super-powered roommates, the Black Widow was easily the most intimidating. Still, she seemed to like Kristine for some reason. Actually, all of the Avengers seemed to like her. Dr. Banner seemed to enjoy striking up quiet conversation with her, completely unbothered by her inability to get a coherent sentence out when she was nervous. Captain Rodgers was impressed by her artwork, always ready with some new compliment that made her day. Thor never failed to greet her with a smile.

Kristine was pretty sure they were just being nice because they felt bad for her, but she decided not to let it bother her. It made her feel nice too.

They were all outraged on her behalf when Michael took a plea deal. He plead guilty to attempted murder in the second degree in exchange for all other charges being dropped and was sentenced to seven years in prison.

“Seven years,” fumed Loki when the news broke. “He could have killed you, and he only gets seven years. It’s ludicrous.”

Despite popular opinion, Kristine was relieved. If Michael had pled innocent, there would have been a trial. She would have had to sit on the witness stand and face him down as she attempted to tell her story in front of dozens of eyes. Seven years was more than enough for her.

The check was paid, and the group made ready to leave, still laughing and telling stories as they walked through the door. Avengers Tower was only a short walk up the street, so Kristine said her goodbyes and started on her way. She never really went out much after the sun set. It was strange to think that even cloaked in night, the city still was wide awake. The night air sent shivers up her bare arms, but Kristine didn’t mind. She was wearing short sleeves a lot more these days, now that she didn’t have to worry about covering up bruises. It was freeing, in a strange sort of way.

Kristine noticed one of her missing posters taped to the stoplight while she waited to cross the street. The ink had mostly been washed away by recent thunderstorms, but she could still make out the outline of her face, grinning awkwardly at the ground.

It was a really awful picture they decided to plaster across the country. Michael had taken it, the morning after the first night they spent together. Her hair was a complete mess (but then when was it ever not?), and she had that uncomfortable photo smile she wore in every picture ever taken of her. She wasn’t even looking at the camera!—why on _Earth_ had they chosen that one? 

She glanced around for a moment. When she saw that no one was looking, she ripped the poster from the pole and crumpled it into her purse. There wasn’t anything wrong with that. She hadn’t been missing for nearly half a year now, no reason to keep them up anymore. Still, Kristine crossed the street with the feeling in her stomach that she had committed a capital offense.

If her mother could have seen her now, she would have been laughing. Diana Ververs never understood her daughter’s desperate need to be seen by no one. It had been a problem her whole life. There was one time, all the way back in second grade, when Kristine had come home begging her mother to let her dye her hair brown so that she wouldn’t be the only redhead in the school.

At the request, her mom had tilted her head and frowned. “What’s wrong with that?”

“Everyone looks at me!” Kristine cried. “It’s ugly and I hate it!”

“Oh, Krissy, that’s not true!” she said. “They look at you because your hair is the prettiest color in the whole world. That’s why I married your dad, you know.”

The girl hadn’t been convinced. “I want brown hair!” she said. “Like Ashley and Erin.”

“But if you had brown hair like Ashley and Erin, I wouldn’t be able to recognize you,” her mother said, pulling her into her arms. “I’d say, ‘where’s my pretty little Krissy with her red hair?’ I’d be sad and lonely. You don’t want me to be sad and lonely, do you?”

Little Kristine had faltered at that. “Nnnooo…”

“Then you’ll keep your red hair for me?” she asked hopefully, kissing the crown of her head.

“Alright,” Kristine agreed reluctantly. “Just for you, Mama.”

Growing up, it had just been the two of them. Kristine’s father had died in a car accident before she was born, and they didn’t really have any extended family nearby. Kristine had been exceptionally close with her mother, closer than she had ever been with any friends or acquaintances she met at school. When the diagnosis came in, the ground just fell out from under her. What had been simple complaints of back pain was suddenly stage IV lung cancer, and Kristine was dropping out of her master’s program to help her mom through chemo.

Everything spiraled so fast. Within months, she was gone.

While she had been asleep, Kristine had dreamed about her mom. Her dad had been there too: Kristine recognized the diabolical red curls that he had so kindly passed down to her. They had swirled around her in a mist-filled limbo, smiling and singing to her in voices too quiet to hear properly. Kristine had wondered if she was dead. It made sense to her healing-stone-drugged brain: dying young was in her blood, after all. Death and her were old friends at this point, might as well embrace it.

Frustratingly though, her parents remained _just_ out of reach. Kristine cried and screamed and begged, grasping at thin air for her mother’s hand, but she couldn’t quite bridge the distance. It wasn’t until she opened her eyes into the elegant chambers of Prince Loki and felt her groan vibrate in her throat that she realized she wasn’t dead after all.

Actually, it seemed her life might have just begun.

Kristine slid her ID card in the door of Avengers Tower, smiling awkwardly at the night watchman, then swiped it again in the elevator.

 _So much security._ Sometimes, she almost forgot that she was living on what was essentially a government base. The elevator chimed as the doors opened at the top floor and she slipped into the common room.

“Did you have a good time?” Kristine jumped. Loki was stretched out on the couch, legs crossed elegantly, not even looking up from his book.

She raised an eyebrow. “Were-were you waiting up for me?”

“Of course not. Not everything’s about you, you know.” Loki turned the page, but there was a glint in his eye that made Kristine smile.

“Um…” she pushed her hair out of her face. “I think I’m going to make some tea. Want some?”

“That sounds lovely.”

Kristine fumbled around the kitchen as she heated the water, feeling his eyes on her all the while. She found herself stealing glances back at him as well—he just looked so _regal_ , lounging there as if he owned the whole place. She wished she could get away with snapping a picture on her phone, just so she could have something to reference for a sketch later. Kristine had been drawing a lot of Loki recently—after all, she _had_ promised—but she had yet to show any of these portraits to him. The floundering, bumbling part of her was convinced that they weren’t good enough, that he’d hate them. Stupid, she knew—he had nothing but praise to shower on the artwork she _did_ decide to show him, but still she was nervous.

She wanted him to like her so badly. Like them. The drawings. But her too. Kind of. And that was stupid as well, because she _knew_ he liked her. He had saved her life, after all. But even excluding that, Loki had always been so nice to her. Kristine had often wondered if he knew how badly she looked forward to his little visits every afternoon at the coffeeshop, the silly little chats they’d share for a few minutes. And he never stopped looking out for her: even now, months after everything had been resolved, he’d still check up on how she was feeling.

Still, sometimes she wondered. Did he actually like her, or were his actions just out of pity? It was a strange thing to consider, especially given his tumultuous past (imagine trying to explain to the average New Yorker that Loki of Asgard might have spent months being nice to some random girl just because he felt bad for her), but she considered it often, nonetheless. She didn’t know how to feel about it.

Kristine brought the teacups over to the couch. Loki sat up, moving his legs so that she could sit next to him, thanking her softly as she handed him the cup. For a while, they just sat there, sipping their tea in silence.

Finally, though, she found the courage to clear her throat. “Hey,” she asked. “Remember when you asked me to dance at the Christmas party?”

He grinned. “How could I forget?”

“Why did you?” she asked bluntly. Her cheeks immediately flushed red. “I mean—did you—could you tell? That he—Michael and I—that we—”

Luckily, Loki seemed to get what she was trying to spit out. “Not exactly,” he said, stirring his tea methodically. “I could tell that you were unhappy, and that he was completely unbothered by the fact that you were unhappy, and I found that to be concerning. But at that point, I never would have guessed the extent of the situation.”

No. It seemed no one could have guessed the extent of the situation. “Oh,” Kristine mumbled. “Is-is that why you asked me to dance? Because you were concerned?”

Loki raised his eyebrows, turning to fix Kristine with an amused gaze. “I asked you to dance because I wanted to dance with you.” When Kristine stared back at him in silence, he laughed. “Is that so difficult to believe?”

“N-no.” Now it was her turn to focus on stirring her tea and ignoring her companion. “I just… I’m not sure what happens now.”

“That would depend,” Loki said. “What do you wish to happen now?”

Kristine gulped. He had put the ball in her court. Even months later, she still found herself expecting someone to pop up and tell her exactly what to do. But Loki was waiting patiently. This decision was hers.

“I guess…” she started, speaking far too fast. “I mean, I wouldn’t mind if you took me out for coffee. Not in the Tower, I mean. There’s-there’s a place down the street. Unless you’d like the Tower better, that is. I don’t really care—”

Loki hushed her gently. “I’d be honored to take you out for coffee,” he said. “Would tomorrow morning suffice?”

It took her a full minute for her to fully process what he was saying, but once she did, Kristine couldn’t stop the smile from spreading across her lips. “Yeah. Yeah, that would… suffice.”

“Good.” Loki leaned back against the cushions, and silence lapsed around them once more. Kristine hesitated for a moment before following him, shyly resting her head on his shoulder. He stiffened at first, and Kristine made to pull away, but he wrapped his arm around her and held her closer.

She sighed contentedly. She was safe here.

Safe with Loki.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's all folks! Hope you liked it! Thank you so much for reading!! :) Feel free to give feedback or check out my Tumblr (@cozy-the-overlord).


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